Homecoming: Return of Jinx
by Writ-in-Fire-and-Ice
Summary: Ahem. What's this you say? A story about an OC? Not really, it's more a glimpse into what the American Wizarding World might be like. May turn into an actual story at some point.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Period.

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She's just a lonely girl standing on the edge of a cliff, wind blowing her hair all around. She eyes the darkening clouds with distaste. The wind changes directions, flinging her jacket against her and causing her wand to dig into her side. She pulls it out and examines the hawthorn for any scratches, before sighing.

Her world has been torn completely asunder; her only chance now lies back home in magical Britain. Another sigh, she sits down on the edge of the cliff with her legs dangling over. She reaches deep into the other pocket of her trench coat. Her keys, a bit of change, a scrap of parchment, and finally, a tattered photograph make their way back into the light.

She smiles the first true smile she's had in months. James and Lily Potter grin at their son while Harry himself waves a pudgy little hand at her. Behind them Sirius and Remus hover. Remus looks tired, and she remembers the photo was taken when he really was sick for once. Sirius is giving James bunny ears. Next to Sirius, she herself stands with an arm slung around his shoulders. Her smile falters; the photo brings back far too many painful memories.

Abruptly, she stands up while shoving the photo back into her pocket. She begins to make her way back along the path through the woods. Wand in hand, she steps off the trail. Making her way through the trees, she eventually comes across a ramshackle hut. She steps up to the door.

"Two up and three across," she mutters to herself as she taps the symbols on the door. The door swings inwards and cheer comes up from inside.

"Why, it's Sol! Here for a drink or a bite?" the bar-woman shouts.

Sol smiles and shakes her head, "No, just a bit of shopping, Melissa."

The woman puts, " I haven't seen you in months! I know you had a bit of trouble, but don't you think that's a bit ridiculous."

Sol rolls her eyes, "It'll be quite a long while 'til you see me after today." With that, she pushes her way through the crowd. After yanking the back door open, she steps out into the sun in a completely different place, Sun Alley – Southeastern America's magical shopping district.

A vendor waves at her as she wanders toward the bank. She supposes it's not that different from Diagon Alley. There's a Quality Quidditch Supplies and Gringotts, but the similarities end there. There's Scratch and Flint's Rare Book Shoppe, Rain's Wizardly School Supplies, Melissa's Mends, and the Golden Dragon – the bar she had just passed through. As she stepped into the cool air of Gringotts, she kept a trained eye out for any trouble. There was the usual shouting and arguing of families trying to get their money, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Sol steps up to her usual teller, "Hello Grasplock. I wish to close all but my oldest vault and transfer the funds to Gringotts Diagon Alley. Please transfer the contents of the oldest vault as well." The goblin simply nods; it had been expected for years that she would return to Britain. She supposes they had already prepared for this.

"The transfer will be complete in two days. Have a profitable day." Grasplock flips his sign from open to closed before slamming the shutters with a bang. Heads turn as people recognize the unmistakeable signs of a vault transfer. They gasp in shock as they see Sol Jinx, the famous owner of Jinxed Publishing Company.

The crowd begisn to babble immediately, "Where you going Sol? Back to Britain?"

"What about your family company?"

"Don't leave! Melissa will kill you!" Sol snorts at the last shout. The bar-woman slash tailor was famous for her temper. Sol smiles politely at the questions as she forces her way through the crowd. They follow as she walks to Wizards in Flight, the travel agency. She opens the door and is greeted with a blast of cool air. A kindly woman is seated at the desk in front of her.

"Where to and how soon?" she asks as she places her _Witches Weekly_ magazine on her desk.

"Magical Britain. Quicker the better." The witch says nothing and hands her a portkey labeled five minutes. She picks back up her magazine and points at sign reading twenty-five dollars one-way. Sol rolls her eyes; she could probably cast one herself and keep the money, but other countries have far more regulations than America. As the portkey begins counting down, she apparates home. With four minutes left she picks up her luggage and says goodbye to her home. With three minutes left she begins the trek to the edge of the wards. At the thirty-second mark she reaches the property and ward line. As the portkey begins to activate, it finally sinks in.

Her joyous shout echoes around the meadow, "I'm going home!"

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AN: This story is about an OC of mine who has been in my head for quite a while. It will probably be continued at some point, but I'm more focused on _Torture of Time._ Before anyone complains about chapter length, this is just the prologue. I happen to like this little chapter quite a bit since it gives me a chance to put a bit of my opinions on how magical America looks.


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